


the echos of everything

by missymeggins



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:58:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: This was actually the very first thing I started writing for Warehouse 13 but it has languished half unfinished on my computer for months but I felt like I had to get it finished before S4.





	the echos of everything

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the very first thing I started writing for Warehouse 13 but it has languished half unfinished on my computer for months but I felt like I had to get it finished before S4.

_the echoes of everything_ | **warehouse 13;** myka/hg | 4907 words | pg

 

 

Authors Notes: This was actually the very first thing I started writing for Warehouse 13 but it has languished half unfinished on my computer for months but I felt like I had to get it finished before S4.

For [](https://recycledstars.livejournal.com/profile)[**recycledstars**](https://recycledstars.livejournal.com/) because a) I wouldn't be fulfilling the ~cliches of a writer if I didn't at some point dedicate something to my girlfriend and b) because she refrained from complaining too much when I got all precious about it and made her sit on the other couch so she couldn't read over my shoulder. It was very nice of her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
It starts simply enough.  
  
(As these things so often do.)  
  
It's a single moment with Helena's arms around her waist as they fly into the sky, where the only real thought in Myka's head is 'holy crap H.G Wells is a _woman_.'  
  
It's not that the knowledge itself is new – she's had time by now to process it intellectually, even if it is still a little jarring to have to completely readjust her view of the famous author (but then again she's sort of become used to having to adjust her reality since joining the Warehouse) - it's just that there's something about the feel of Helena's body pressed against hers that makes it a whole new revelation.  
  
Later, when she finds a bright yellow post-it note that reads “You can owe me,” she feels a kind of warmth pressing against her chest and she smiles.  
  
At that point in time it still seems simple.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
(Their time together - before things go so badly - is so brief when they really distil it. It spans just weeks but the moments add up to so much more than any measure of time can express.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Helena knocks on Myka's door that first night at Leena's, with some innocuous question; a basic 21st century bafflement that she needs Myka's help to unravel. It may have been her own wish that the Regents have granted in allowing her to return to the Warehouse but it doesn't mean there aren't things to adjust to in this new world, things that confuse and bewilder her - feelings she's not used to experiencing.  
  
And Myka is still the most receptive to her presence at the Warehouse and their home. (Helena doesn't really think of it as home yet. She will one day though.) She's the only one who _smiles_ at Helena, who explains things without condescension or amusement, who simply helps her make _sense_ of this mad, mad world.  
  
“What are you reading?” Helena enquires as she notices the way Myka tries to subtly slide the book under her bedcovers.  
  
“Oh,” Myka shakes her head a little. “Nothing important,” Myka replies in an attempt at nonchalance but Helena can't resist her own curiosity flinging herself onto the bed and reaching over her to find the book.  
  
She smiles when she reads the cover. _The Time Machine by H.G Wells_. Myka looks uncomfortable, skirting her gaze around Helena as though she's trying to ignore how close they suddenly are.  
  
“Oh, don't be embarrassed darling, I'm thrilled someone still thinks it's worth reading.”  
  
Myka laughs a little now and Helena can't help smiling at the way it lights up her face. (It hasn't taken her long to notice just how beautiful Myka is when she's happy. Not that she isn't beautiful all the time, but there's a special quality to that unassuming smile that sometimes graces her face unexpectedly that exists on an entirely different level. And it makes Helena ache in a way she doesn't really understand.)  
  
“It's just, I'd read your work so many times and always with this image in my head of H.G Wells the _man_ , the _father_ of science fiction, because that's how this worlds _knows_ you and so now _knowing_ you as you really are – I just felt like I had to read your works again with you in mind. I know, it's silly,” she says, ducking her head in embarrassment as she realises how overt her enthusiasm has become.  
  
“Not at all,” Helena answers, her voice softening fondly. “It's lovely to know some people are still as in love with knowledge as I was all those years ago. I should let you get back to it.”  
  
“No, you don't have to go!” Myka says quickly, grasping at Helena's hand as she tries to stand. “I mean, not if you don't want to,” she follows up hastily, uncurling her fingers from the warmth of Helena's skin. “What I mean is, I'd be happy to have your company if you don't have other things you need to do?”  
  
Helena smiles warmly and says, “Thank you, I think I'd rather enjoy that also,” as she sits back down on Myka's bed, shuffling back to lean against the headboard and not bothering to move when she finds herself closer to Myka than intended.  
  
The truth is it's new for them both, this notion of female friendship with an intellectual equal. But it's also exhilarating and joyous and it makes it easier to ignore the undercurrent that's gripped them since the moment they met, allowing them the pretence that what's happening between them is simply about embracing Helena's presence at the Warehouse and making her a part of their team.  
  
(It's so much more. But they aren't yet ready for it.)  
  
They fall asleep in Myka's bed that night – late, late in the night – and by morning they're tangled together on top of the bedspread finding their warmth in each other.  
  
“Good morning darling,” Helena whispers sleepily into the back of Myka's neck as she extracts her hand from where it lies warm against the skin under Myka's shirt. Myka pretends not to notice, or mind the absence of Helena's touch when her hand is gone. She can feel the smile on her face though as she replies in kind with a simple, “Morning H.G,” as though she's used to waking like this every morning.  
  
(Half asleep still, she can't deny thinking that she'd happily get used to it if it were somehow to becoming a recurring event.)  
  
And so she rolls over, flings her arm around Helena's waist, too sleepy to worry about _appropriateness_ , and falls back to sleep, feeling content and safe and happy.  
  
When she wakes again she's alone and for the briefest of seconds she worries that she's dreamt the entire thing but then she spots a yellow post-it note on her pillow. _Gone to breakfast. I'm starving. Didn't want to wake you. H.G._  
  
So Myka dresses and makes her way down to the dining room, where Helena looks altogether at home, while Claudia is a bundle of nerves and Artie is actively resentful of her presence.  
  
It's far from ideal but somehow she just doesn't care.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Myka's stretched out on one of the couches in Leena's living room, absorbed in a book. It's a rare Sunday when there's no case and everyone else is remarkably out enjoying social lives.  
  
Except Helena.  
  
She stands at the doorway for a moment before speaking. “May I join you?” she asks quietly.  
  
Myka nods, “Of course,” she says sitting up properly now, watching as Helena moves quickly into the room and sits beside her. Close.  
  
“You know, there's a whole room full of couches? You'd be more comfortable on your own, I'm sure.”  
  
“No, I don't think I would,” she answers bluntly. _Pointedly_. And Myka gets it (at least, she thinks she does. Sometimes it's so hard to tell what _means_ something and what doesn't with Helena).  
  
“Come on,” she says standing up, gesturing for Helena to sit in her place, before resuming her position, this time settling between Helena's legs and leaning back against her chest.  
  
Then it's quiet. So Myka continues reading and Helena simply sits, occasionally playing with a strand of Myka's hair.  
  
“Don't you hate sitting still?” Myka asks abruptly, breaking the silence. “I mean, you were bronzed for nearly a hundred years. Don't you want to just _move_ all the time?”  
  
Helena's voice is quiet, and her usual cocky tone is noticeably lacking. “On the contrary,” she murmurs. “I had nearly a hundred years to become very accustomed to stillness. It's the noise in this world I find hardest to bear. Besides, this is entirely different. Why would I ever choose movement over this? To be still, like this, with you... well it feels safe.”  
  
Myka reaches for Helena's hand, lacing their fingers together. She doesn't say anything; Helena doesn't need her to.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It's a simple moment. Casual, frivolous even. They're finally starting to feel like a team and Helena tosses out the words like a meaningless anecdote. “Many of my lovers were men.”  
  
_Many_. But not _all_. Myka is quick to notice the distinction and she smiles to herself, because it seems like they have so many possibilities ahead of them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
But they don't.  
  
Their possibilities turn out to be far fewer than she imagined; just a series of isolated moments that later felt like they could have led to so much more.  
  
There's Helena doing her best – but entirely unintentional - Lara Croft impression while Myka just grins at the sight and the way H.G doesn't seem to care if she looks ridiculous or not, shrugging her shoulders and declaring, “Well it is ever so comfy.”  
  
And there's the way Myka's heart aches when she finds Helena on the ground in Warehouse Two, more vulnerable than she's ever seen her, crying at the fresh anguish of Christina's loss, and they don't have time for anything more in that moment but Myka is thinking that when they make it back home, she'll hold her and make her feel safe again.  
  
And then there's the sharp pain that rips through her when she realises Helena has betrayed her – _them_ – and her mind races to think of logical explanations but comes up empty.  
  
(Actually, not empty. It's practically a scream inside her head. _Artie was right. You were wrong_.)  
  
So by the time they're standing in Yellowstone, with Helena about to end the world, there's so much between them and it's entirely unspoken – but not, Myka knows, entirely unfelt. She can see it in Helena's eyes, her fear and her desire _not_ to hurt Myka, even if she cares about no one else.  
  
In the end that's somehow enough to stop her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It started simply.  
  
And it ended simply.  
  
Helena tried to destroy the world and Myka said goodbye.  
  
(But it didn't end there. So, not simple at all really. How could it be?)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Myka leaves the Warehouse it's because that place of endless wonder feels like the very thing that's betrayed her. It brought H.G – beautiful, impossible, life changing H.G Wells – into her life.  
  
But she can't help feeling it was partially responsible for setting Helena on the path of destruction she so brutally waged on Myka's heart.  
  
(And the _world_ , she reminds herself. Sometimes it's so easy to forget that Helena's betrayal ran so much deeper than Myka's feelings. The truth, that actually it wasn't about her at all, is both a comfort and a fresh source of pain.)  
  
Endless wonder is indeed wonderful. But Myka finally, truly, understands now that it doesn't come without a cost.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In time she does begin to heal.  
  
The Warehouse and its dangers have wrought havoc on her life but it's still her happiest place. It's still the root of her family; she needs it and it needs her too. It is - as Helena tells her - her truth.  
  
(There is another truth, weaving through her at this point in time. It's this: Helena's betrayal stings; but it does not break her. She refuses to let it.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And then that feeling of betrayal begins to fade. It shouldn't, Myka knows. It shouldn't be easy to forgive, or forget what Helena did, but somehow it is.  
  
(She hates herself a little for that.)  
  
Helena still _exists_ in their world. It's a strange existence, true. But then again, it always was. For H.G Wells to be present in the 21st century – for her to be _her_ and not _he_ has always been strange. Or wonderful, Myka thinks. It all depends on your perspective.  
  
Hologram or not, Helena _exists_. And when Myka looks at her she feels no anger. It's not a choice; it just is.  
  
Sometimes she reaches out to touch her but she can't.  
  
(Until it's entirely too late.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
What happens after Helena dies is not simple.  
  
As Helena silently says her goodbye, mouthing the words 'thank you', Myka thinks maybe she can actually be as brave as the woman saving her life. But the moment the shield is lifted, and she looks at the destruction of her home, she feels the heavy weight of Helena's absence crushing her.  
  
Suddenly she's thinking 'the price was too high' even though she _knows_ the only alternative was for four lives to be lost. And still, she _feels_ that the price _was_ too high. That truth terrifies her.  
  
(It's funny too, because it turns out Helena truly was that noble. While she, Myka Bering, the most pragmatic of them all, was simply selfish.)  
  
And then Artie tells them of _possibilities_. The Warehouse doesn't _have_ to be lost but there will be risks and none of them know what costs might be paid in turn.  
  
From the moment Myka hears that she refuses to take part in any of the discussions. She doesn't trust her judgement because every mention of restoring the Warehouse has her screaming in her own head “Yes!”  
  
(And what she's truly afraid of is that if she lets it out, what everyone will truly hear is, “Helena.”)  
  
In the end, it's the Regents who make the choice. Helena reforms before Myka's eyes and she finds herself gripping Pete's hand so tightly he actually squeals. (But to his credit, he doesn't force her to let go. He _knows_ she needs him in this moment, even if he doesn't completely understand why just yet.  
  
Helena looks at her, and Myka can't speak, can't move from the spot on which she's standing, because she's certain if she does, she'll lose all control. She envisions herself flinging her arms around H.G's waist, burying her face in the other woman's neck, running her fingers through that dark, straight hair, and sobbing out her relief.  
  
But she doesn't.  
  
For one thing, the Regent's sweep her away all too quickly.  
  
For another she still doesn't know what it is she wants to say.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She's in her room when Helena finally returns. She's been sitting there for nearly an hour and more than once she's had to stop herself from simply getting up and leaving; driving out into the desert where she doesn't have to speak, or listen or acknowledge anyone else's existence.  
  
But she doesn't because it isn't fair. She knows Helena will look for her. She knows they can't avoid this reunion forever. So when Helena knocks on her door, she nods and motions for her to come in.  
  
“The Regent's are still discussing my fate. I have a reprieve until tomorrow,” she says carefully. “They granted me permission to stay here for the evening. 'Under Artie's watchful eye', they said.”  
  
Myka is quiet, perched on the edge of her bed, and she doesn't look at Helena when she says, “12 hours. You should really take advantage of that. Make the most of what time you have left.”  
  
“I was rather I hoping I could do that with you.” She crosses the room now and sits next to Myka. “There's really nowhere else I'd like to be. Nothing else I could want but your company, if these are truly to be my last hours here.”  
  
Myka slides her hand across the bed, stopping just millimetres from where Helena's rests. She can't bring herself to bridge that final gap. So Helena does it for her, gently lacing their fingers together and holding Myka's hand tightly in hers.  
  
“You were gone Helena,” Myka whispers, close to tears but trying so desperately to reign them in. “And now you're here but who knows what will happen tomorrow. I'm not sure I can say goodbye again.”  
  
“Myka,” Helena says quietly. “Tell me what to do. I don't _know_ what do, how to make it better.”  
  
“I wish I knew.”  
  
The words are too familiar, still raw, and they both wince at the memory.  
  
Eventually Myka crawls up the bed and lays her head on the pillow. She's so tired. Helena remains still, at the foot of the bed, uncertain where she's supposed to be in this moment.  
  
(How she wishes it were simply about _her_ choice, _her_ desires. There would be no question, no hesitation then.)  
  
“Come to bed Helena,” Myka eventually whispers. “Please.”  
  
They wrap their arms around each other in the dark, silently hoping for the same thing: for dawn to bring a second chance.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In the morning the Mr Kosan is waiting for Helena. He doesn't blink at Myka's presence beside her.  
  
“We have discussed your fate at length. And while we acknowledge and value the sacrifices you made to protect the Warehouse, it doesn't completely absolve you of your prior crimes. As such we do not feel we can simply 'set you free' as it were.”  
  
Helena's face is surprisingly impassive as she responds, “So it's back to holographic prison, I suppose.”  
  
Myka closes her eyes, willing the world around them to fade, for this reality to be some kind of illusion.  
  
“Actually we have another option,” Mr Kosan tells her. “Your value to the Warehouse is not to be ignored. You could, if you choose, continue to work for the Warehouse. With one small caveat. You would, in a manner of speaking remain _bound_ to it. A security measure if you will.”  
  
“What exactly does that mean?” Myka asks, bluntly, shifting on her feet and fighting the urge to grip Helena's hand. She doesn't trust the Regent's any more, not where H.G is concerned.  
  
“Well, we would offer some latitude as a courtesy comfort, extend the field to Leena's so that she would be able to live with the rest of the team, but for all intents and purposes Miss Wells would remain in the Warehouse where she may help you with your cases in whatever capacity you see fit. But she will not be able to go any further than the boundaries we set. And perhaps one day we will re-evaluate.”  
  
Myka feels the anger rising inside her, while Helena stands calmly, unspeaking. It's too much and Myka breaks. “That's not a life,” she shouts. “You can't do that to her.”  
  
“She can always choose to return to being Emily Lake,” Mr Kasan tells her calmly. “There is nothing wrong with that life.”  
  
Myka wants to shout even more now, tell him all the ways it's so _terribly_ wrong; because H.G Wells is not American and she doesn't _like_ cats and though she has one of the greatest minds in the world, she'd never have the patience to teach obnoxious high school students. But really, the thought that presses foremost in her mind, the reason _that_ life is so _very_ wrong is because Emily Lake doesn't know Myka Bering. To Emily Lake she means nothing.  
  
But she doesn't shout, doesn't scream, barely even breathes because the truth is she's so afraid that despite all those things – despite that last, most crucial point – maybe that's what Helena would prefer in face of this choice. H.G Wells wasn't made to be chained up, not even if the cage itself is filled with endless wonder.  
  
Helena has been quiet but now she speaks, firmly. “Is anyone going to ask me what I want? Myka?” she says softly, turning to face her with questions in her eyes.  
  
“I'm sorry. I just, it's not fair and I can't – I don't want -” Myka stammers emotionally, running a hand through her hair before taking a breath and trying again. “But it's not about me, you're right. It's your choice; what _do_ you want?”  
  
Helena steps forward, as close to Myka as she dares without actually touching her. “I want _you_ Myka.”  
  
“I don't – I don't exactly know what that means,” she replies, emotion and uncertainty choking her voice.  
  
“It can mean whatever you want it to mean. There was a time when we did make a rather good team. I'd like to think we could at _least_ be that again. And perhaps if I'm very lucky, you might one day forgive me of all my mistakes,” she says as she takes hold of Myka's hand.  
  
Myka looks down, first at their hands and then away, voice quiet and uncertain in returns. “If you can forgive mine.”  
  
She doesn't have the courage to look up and meet Helena's gaze, but she hears the softening of her voice and feels the gentle squeeze of her hands.  
  
“What possible mistakes could you need my forgiveness for?” Helena asks.  
  
“I should have seen it sooner, the pain you'd suffered. I should have _done_ something, been -”  
  
“No,” she says, cutting her off firmly as she brings a hand to Myka's face. “It wasn't your responsibility Myka. My sins are my own and there is no excuse for them. The fact that I'm being given any kind of second chance at all is more than I deserve. And I'm just desperately, selfishly hopeful that you might find a reason of your own to give me one as well. A chance to see what might have been had I not...well, we know what. It doesn't need to be said.”  
  
“So. You want to stay? Even if it means sacrificing your freedom?” Myka asks quietly.  
  
“I've made many sacrifices in my time Myka. This is a _choice_. And I believe it's the right one. The fact is, freedom is merely a matter of degrees for me now. But I choose this; the Warehouse, you.” She pauses and her face is serious, maybe a little scared even. “That is, if you want that.”  
  
“Yes,” Myka whispers. “Yes. I want _you_.”  
  
(Behind them Mr Kosan smiles, ever so slightly, as he turns and leaves. Neither of them notice his departure.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Myka stop,” Helena laughs as she feels Myka's lips on her hip, slowly moving up her body. _Again_.  
  
“I don't want to,” Myka breaths against her, gently brushing her fingers down the side of Helena's breast. “I like touching you.”  
  
Helena sighs happily, trailing her fingers around the back of Myka's neck and closing her eyes. “Believe me, I have no complaints about it either. But if you don't stop we're never going to get any sleep and I'm sure you don't wish to explain to Artie why we're both so exhausted tomorrow morning.”  
  
Myka sighs, pulls her lips from Helena's skin and slowly slides her body up until she's face to face with the woman beneath her. She brushes a gentle kiss against her lips and when she feels two arms encircle her waist she closes her eyes and drops her head into the curve of Helena's neck.  
  
“I like touching you,” she whispers again. “I like giving you pleasure. It makes me feel...” she trails off, choosing instead to lick Helena's collarbone in a way that causes Helena shudder beneath her.  
  
“It makes you feel? What?” Helena prompts breathlessly, playing with a strand of Myka's hair.  
  
Myka bites her lip and her voice is soft as she answers, not uncertain exactly, but shy. “I like that I get to be the one who touches you, no one else. I like that it's _me_ you want. It makes me feel worthy.”  
  
“Oh darling,” Helena says, twisting their bodies now til they're laying on their sides so she can look at Myka properly, all the while holding her as close as she possibly can. “You _are_ worthy – of so many things Myka – but it has nothing at all to do with me.”  
  
“It does,” Myka protests in between the sleepy kisses she presses to Helena's lips. “Because you make me happy.”  
  
“As do you make me,” Helena tells her earnestly, stroking her hair softly and feeling Myka's heartbeat slow down as she drifts into sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Myka decides she's not interested in wasting time hiding their relationship, so a few days later at breakfast she clears her throat and in her most authoritative voice says, “So H.G and I are sleeping together. Because we're in love. And that's just, you know, what's going on. And I'm not asking for your permission or your blessing or anything, I'm just telling you cos that's how it is.”  
  
Beside her Helena just smiles to herself.  
  
Claudia cracks a grin and says, “Well yeah we kind of figured that already. But I'm so glad you told us!”  
  
Pete just shrugs at her and nods. (Later they have a moment – the kind they always pretend never happened after because that's just how they roll – and he'll hug her and say “I'm so glad you're happy Mykes.”)  
  
Artie chokes on his coffee.  
  
(Leena catches him on the way out and fixes him with a look. “Her aura is the calmest it's ever been you know. Helena's too.” Artie acknowledges her with a nothing more than a brief grunt. But the truth is he _does_ feel their happiness and though his history with Helena is fraught with mistrust he finds that when he sees them together, sees the looks they share and the way H.G likes to keep in contact with Myka at all time, even if it's just a finger brushing against her side, he can't bring himself to take it away from them. Not that he's under any illusions that he actually _could_.  
  
Helena gave her life once for Myka and he knows she'll fight anyone and everything to be with her again. And Myka watched H.G die once; she'll never let that happen again. They've made their choices and he has no right to interfere.)  
  
“How did you know?” Myka asks, frowning slightly.  
  
“Oh, darling,” Helena says quickly, placing an arm on Myka's shoulder, “I don't think you really want to ask that question.”  
  
“You're loud,” Pete tells her with a pointed look.  
  
“Oh my god,” Myka freezes and closes her eyes.  
  
“I tried to warn you Myka.”  
  
“I'm walking away now,” she says, turning quickly to head back up the stairs.  
  
Helena shrugs. “Breakfast in bed it is then,” she tells Pete and Claudia with a wink, taking a plate and some pastries with her, leaving Pete and Claudia grinning at each other over the table.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It isn't easy. All too often Myka has to leave and Helena remains behind, alone.  
  
In time she learns that to be without Myka does not have to mean _alone_. There is Claudia and Leena, who both accept her easily and without question. She finds that days in the Warehouse, tinkering with inventions with Claudia, or quiet cups of tea with Leena, make it bearable.  
  
And even Pete becomes more friendly, apparently deciding that if nothing else Helena is a worthy ally in his favourite game of 'make fun of Myka' – a game which, if Helena is totally honest, does rather amuse her; Myka's annoyance is just too charming to resist and the growing camaraderie with Pete is surprisingly comforting. She begins to understand now that Myka's grumbling insults in which she likens Pete to a dog with great regularity actually have an undercurrent of affection and admiration. More to the point, she understands _why_. Pete's loyalty is unrivalled and, for most, unbreakable. She's grateful and comforted to know that Myka has been able to count on him through everything that's happened.  
  
Artie remains distant but he doesn't question the Regents' decision and he seems to make a conscious choice _not_ to constantly reference her prior duplicity. It's a small concession, but she accepts it as more than she deserves.  
  
But slowly, she begins to feel that she has a home again. She begins to trust that she has a _future_. A _hopeful_ future at that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Myka,” Helena says one day. “Do you remember in Warehouse 2 -” she pauses, aware of the way Myka has tensed up. There's no anger left between them, forgiveness and repentance have been paid in due, but still, these memories hold pain and they try not to dwell. “It showed us our happiest place, to distract us?”  
  
“You saw your old life, with Christina,” Myka replies.  
  
“The thing is,” Helena says simply, “If we were there now – I no longer think that's what I would see.”  
  
“What, you mean, the Warehouse is your happiest place? Even though you can't leave it?” Myka asks, surprised.  
  
“No,” Helena shakes her head. “Not the Warehouse. Not even a place in point of fact. The air around it might change but the core will always remain. You.”  
  
Myka smiles – actually she grins. Goofily. She might care that her face looks like it's about to break, but she doesn't.  
  
“I'm your happiest place?” she asks.  
  
“Yes you are. I think you always will be.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
(Simplicity, they learn – simplicity in love – is overrated. It doesn't have to be simple. It just has to be right.  
  
And it is.)  
  
  
  
---


End file.
